


Misericorde

by flammablehat



Series: Summerpornathon 2014 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Mild Blood, Team Gluttony, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana is nothing, a witch in a hovel — solitary keeper of the knowledge that she is <i>better</i>, she has always been better than all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misericorde

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Challenge 4 - _Tropesmash_ of the 2014 season of Summer Pornathon. A [misericorde](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misericorde_\(weapon\)) was a long, narrow knife used in medieval times to deliver a death stroke, otherwise known as the mercy stroke, to fatally wounded knights. 
> 
> This story does not contain major character death, even though the ending is meant to be ambiguous.

They have always been well matched. 

+

“Again, Arthur,” the swordmaster says. 

Morgana raises her blade, taking up her starting position. Arthur checks his feet placement against hers before returning his eyes to his tutor, who looks annoyed, but continues to pretend Morgana isn’t there. 

+

Arthur’s tourney record is perfect because no one counts a defeat if it’s delivered by a woman. 

\+ 

Morgana doesn’t hold it against Arthur. He’s the only one who will deign to spar with her, after all, and since he is the best of his men Morgana is content with their arrangement. 

Sometimes, when she leaves the armoury after a bout, she can hear Leon come in to chastise Arthur for a brute. 

It subdues him until the next time she pleads him out onto the yard, ‘ _just some light swordplay, Arthur, honest,_ ’ and promptly kicks him into the dust. Then he’s back on his feet, fire in his eyes and laughter ringing over the clash of their blades. 

+

She wears borderline scandalous gowns to tease Arthur with her skin and enrage Uther with her bruising — a spectrum of purple and green, and all of it glorious.

+

He first betrays her when he fully adopts the mantle of manhood. 

When ‘Prince’ becomes a solemn duty, when _man_ means keeping the company of other men and treating ladies as jewels to guard and protect, he leaves her behind, believing it’s for her own good, no matter her opinion. 

No matter that he once trusted her when she insisted she could protect herself. 

+

Arthur takes the throne because no one counts a birthright if the claim comes from a woman. Morgana is nothing, a witch in a hovel — solitary keeper of the knowledge that she is _better_ , she has always been better than all of them. 

+

They fight again in a cave, in the dirt, silent but for the shriek of sliding blades until Morgana has him backed into a corner, her short sword at his throat. 

“You know better,” she hisses, “than to hold back with me.” 

“You still leave your left side open,” he says, closing his eyes at the feel of her blade riding his Adam’s apple. 

“Some things never change,” she says, letting her hand drop from her grip. Her sword hovers under his jaw while her fingers light on his chest, fiddling with the ties of his tunic. He freezes under her touch. “Still sparring, are we?”

“You’re at a bit of an advantage,” he says, making her head tip back with laughter. 

“I always was,” she says. “You never needed more than a flash of breast to stumble, Arthur.” She’s almost fond, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, leaning into him. “Do you remember those days?” 

“You’re my sister,” he says stiffly, refusing to touch her, even to push her away. 

“Don’t be so cold,” she says, passing the back of her hand across his groin. “There was a time you dreamed of this, I know.” 

“Morgana,” he begs, recoiling into the smooth rock at his back when she sinks to her knees. Her sword follows him, making him choke on his protest as she pulls his cock from his trousers. 

“So handsome, brother,” she purrs, dragging the soft head in the dip between her breasts until his body responds, helpless. “I once dreamed of this, too.”

She tucks him into her cheek, rolling him across her tongue. His reluctant hardness stiffens rapidly, making her hum. She can hear him gasping above her, fingers scrabbling into the wall, retreating with nowhere to go. 

It’d ruin him to discover she’s given her mouth in trade before. It’d gouge his sense of duty to know she landed on her knees when Camelot tossed her out — but that’s not what this is about. Let him wonder where she learned how to swallow a man deep, to rub at his balls and press a finger just behind them, teasing pleasure pleasure pleasure with sweet lips and a devilish tongue. 

Even the great King of Camelot will eventually whimper and spend with shaking legs. 

Morgana rises to her feet like a queen, thumbing at the corner of her mouth. Arthur’s head is turned from her, his cheeks wet, blood dripping from the shallow cuts at his neck. 

She catches his chin between her fingers and forces him to look at her before she spits his release in his face. 

+

They have always been well matched, but between them, only Morgana never flinched from a killing blow.


End file.
